


The First Time I Remember You

by Kritty



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (temporary), Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Sequence, Drama & Romance, Evil Enjolras, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, POV Grantaire (Les Misérables), Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death, Unrequited Love, Weirdness, i have a soft spot for these two and it'll always be like that, unearthly beings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28131225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kritty/pseuds/Kritty
Summary: “The first time I remember you, your hair is glistens in the sunlight and your smile makes people believe in wonders. You're blonde and you don't love me back."Grantaire and Enjolras meet again and again in every life they live - seemingly damned to circle around each other for eternity, like lost planets.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Arjuna (Mahabharata)/Krishna (Hindu Religions & Lore), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	The First Time I Remember You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: 
> 
> "Les Misérables" does not belong to me. Inspiration for this was a wonderful text called “25 lives” by tongari, this one: http://s2b2.livejournal.com/142934.html. The title is from said comic, as well is the second sentence of this story :)  
> I don't earn any money with this.  
> English is not my first language. Please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> Stay safe :)

**I.**

The first time I remember you, your hair is glistens in the sunlight and your smile makes people believe in wonders.  
You're blonde and you don't love me back.*  
You're strong and beautiful, I'm weak in more ways then one and a bearded raven.  
People call you Achilles, I'm only Patrocolus.  
I die for you and it's the happiest moment of my life.

**II.**

The second time your hair is brown, and I catch your glance. My hearts skips a beat when I realise that you're smiling at me, looking at me like I'm worth noticing.  
You're brunette and you seem to love me back. It takes me another moment to realise that you don't recognize me – that's okay, though.  
Your eyes are blue and sharp, and it hurts when they turn grey and dull far too soon.  
People call you Arjuna, and they glorify me, call me Krishna.  
It is not fair, because this life ends far too soon, and my heart dies before it finds its salvation.

**III.**

Another time you hate me and I think that the colour of your hair doesn't matter after all. You hate me and I can't stop loving you.  
I start to believe that this will be my never-ending destiny, circling around you like a planet.  
It doesn't matter what people call us, because we only meet once and then I'm only half there, hiding in the shadows and watching you, dying with every moment that pulls us further apart.  
The understanding of loving you flees my mind, because your eyes are dead and your hands are cold and strong, merciless but strangely efficient.  
I'm scared but I die desperately in love, still.

**IV.**

When your hair is golden again and you wear red, speaking of Patria and Freedom, I think you might remember me.  
You don't, though, and you most certainly don't love me.  
But that's okay because you love the people – and that's more than I could ever do.  
My mind often flashes back to the first time I noticed you, and I try and see if there is some of Achilles left in you. Sometimes I think I stayed the same and it's only time and you that has changed, but I guess I changed too. I wont always stay Grantaire, as much as you wont always be Achilles or Enjolras.  
Wine and war does things to an earthy creature, no matter how often it has been reborn already.  
Death finds us too soon, chaos is upon us far too early as always.  
This time I make sure you're with me when I die, because I fear you wont survive this anyway.  
You might not understand what my eyes are saying, but you grab my hand and throw me a loving and thankful glance, and even though our bodies are destroyed in the thunder of several shots being fired, my spirit sings and embraces death when it welcomes us.

**V.**

I don't meet you for a very long time.  
It is a horrible thing to happen, but I should have thought of it sooner. I had met you as a whining child, a rebelling teenager and an impressive adult. One time you had been so very old and I was so very young – but I still loved you, already too used to being in love with you.  
I just...I never thought of _not_ meeting you.  
This realization almost kills me on the spot, but I catch myself and start searching for you.  
It takes a lifetime of loneliness, frustration and confusing, and I'm even more uglier and darker when I finally accept that this is the life I will not meet you.  
Well.  
Being in love and waiting for death feels different than being in love and knowing death will come but still being surprised by it. It's agony and joyful anticipation at once.  
And it's so very unneeded.  
I'm not a creature that is easily overtaken by something, not anymore.  
But a vision of you appearing in front of me, hair white and skin aged graciously, materializing right before my tired eyes, that takes my breath away and makes me feel like flying.  
Your eyes are blue, you're head is held high and you look at me, melting every fibre of my being.  
“Hello friend.”, you say, and a whine frees itself out of the prison of my lips.  
“The first time I remember you, you hair is black like a raven and heating coal, and your smile makes people forget their sorrow.”, you tell me.  
“You're black-haired and you love me more than life itself, but I don't notice it until the very end of it.”, you say.  
“You're stronger than you think, you're prettier than you think, and I'm the one who dies a million times and only then remembers the one who died along with him all those times.”, you say.  
There are tears in your eyes, your face is mirroring mine.  
“Do you permit it?”, you then say, offering me a hand.  
I grab it.

We forgot our names because we have had so many, they don't matter.  
What matters is that I am the one who loves you, and you are the one who loves me back.

___  
End.

*Quote from: https://s2b2.livejournal.com/142934.html

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> Please check out the referenced art by tongari, it's beautiful!  
> https://s2b2.livejournal.com/142934.html


End file.
